Can't Manage Ordinary
by englishtutor
Summary: In which John and Mary celebrate their first wedding anniversary in their own, special way. This is an answer to a five-word challenge by Ennui Enigma. And, obviously, it is a continuation of my Mary Watson nee' Morstan series.


This is an answer to a five-word challenge by Ennui Enigma. The five words are: scuppered; stroppy; brolly; kip; yellow skip (yes, I agree that this last one is technically two words). My own dangerous man is American, and all my law-enforcement knowledge comes from him, so I apologize for any mistakes in the legal terms.

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The taxi began to slow as it approached their block of flats, but he happened to look up towards their front window. "Don't stop—keep going. Keep going," he calmly called up to the cabby. "Go another four or five blocks up."

"What's going on?" Mary asked.

"Someone's in our flat," John told her. "I saw the curtain fall back into place when I looked up at our window just now."

Mary pursed her lips thoughtfully. "It couldn't just be Sherlock dropping by, could it?"

"Why would he hide behind the curtain? If he wanted to watch out the window, he'd open the curtain and stand there in plain sight. And if he didn't want anyone to know he was there, he'd never make the mistake of moving the curtain at all."

By this time, they were four blocks away from home, and the cabby let them out. John paid him, with a generous tip, and then they stood on the sidewalk looking at each other.

"Maybe Sherlock planned a surprise party for our anniversary and one of his less-than-stealthy guests peeked out of the window to see if we'd arrived yet," Mary suggested, keeping a straight face. But as soon as she met John's eye, she couldn't help snorting with laughter. They shared a giggle together at the idea of Sherlock remembering an important date and managing to organize an event for it.

"Right," John chuckled. "That seems likely." He pulled out his mobile and began to text. "I'm telling Lestrade to send a team discretely, but to stay out of sight until we know what's going on."

"You think it's the drugs smugglers you and Sherlock have been looking for," Mary concluded. They started walking slowly down the street towards their block of flats. John had been going undercover the last few weeks as a drugs distributer looking for new sources of cocaine. He'd had a few encounters, but not a lot of luck thus far.

John mused thoughtfully, "Either someone is interested and wants to do business—in which case I don't want to frighten them off or have them arrested yet—or someone has blown my cover and sent a hit man to take care of me. What I'd like to know is, how did they find out my real address?"

"Well, there's our anniversary dinner scuppered," Mary sighed.

John stopped, laughed gently and kissed her nose. "Not necessarily. Our reservations aren't until eight. If we can get this cleared up in two hours' time, we'll still make it. All right, you stay in this shop here and I'll text you when it's safe."

"No, you won't," Mary replied firmly. "You are not going up there without back up."

"Well, you're certainly not going up there!" John replied. "Mary, these people are dangerous. I'm not letting you near them!"

Mary's right index finger waved in her husband's face. "Well, then, if you think I'm staying safely here while you rush off into the unknown by yourself, you've gone completely mad! You can't march up there, unarmed, facing dozens of thugs, without back up."

John caught her threatening hand and kissed it. "Don't get stroppy, Mary," he said gently. "I'm not marching up to the door. I'm climbing in the bedroom window, retrieving my gun, and getting the drop on them from behind. It'll be a piece of cake."

Mary rolled her eyes. "It'll be cake _a la mode_ if I go with you," she suggested. "Look, while you're sneaking in the back, I can go in the front and distract them. That way you'll know for certain their attention is away from the bedroom when you leap out at them."

"Yes, their attention will be towards the man shooting at you through the door as soon he hears your key in the lock. No, no. You are not coming and that's final," he said firmly.

Mary visibly gathered her patience. "Be reasonable, John! First of all, you're assuming they're assassins when they might just be drugs smugglers wanting to do business. They're in the flat—they'd have to be blind not to notice that you don't live alone. They won't shoot until they know for certain who's at the door, unless they're complete morons. They'd have to realize what a perfect hostage I'd be for when you came home. And as soon as I come in the door, you can jump out and cover them, and then we'll find out what they're doing in our flat."

John opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again, as he couldn't help but see the justice of her argument. "All right, it would be better to attack from both fronts," he conceded. "But I don't like the thought of you going up there completely unarmed."

Mary twinkled at him. "Oh, I'm not unarmed." She reached for her handbag, which was hanging from one shoulder.

John looked skeptical. "I admit it could make a very good cosh, but perhaps we should load it up with rocks first."

Mary chortled, rummaging through her bag. "No, look at this, Captain." She produced an obviously expensive, lethal-looking Italian stiletto switchblade and handed to him for his inspection. John's eyes grew wide.

"Bloody hell, Mary! Where did you get this? This is a top-end brand—this is. . . beautiful." John held it reverently and examined it.

She smirked. "Sherlock gave it to me. He said it was annoying to have to feel concerned for my safety, so he'd like to know I was properly armed." She then produced a can of mace and then two sets of hand-cuffs.

John shook his head ruefully. "Sometimes it frightens me, how well you two get on."

"I know," Mary said, her dimples showing.

"I suppose he'll be supplying you with your own sidearm, next," he went on. The corner of Mary's mouth quirked. John's eyebrows went up.

"He didn't?" said John; and "Not yet," said Mary, simultaneously. They snickered together companionably.

John turned his attention back to the knife, examining it thoughtfully. "It won't do you any good closed up and in your bag. You need it for ready use. But it's too big to hide in your hand. And you haven't any pockets to speak of. What is it with you women, having no proper pockets to hide things in?" He frowned, looking about him as if for ideas that might be scattered on the ground. "Oh! I've got it!" He hurried into the shop, in front of which they were still standing, and came out a few moments later with a short, black umbrella and a packet of leather shoe laces.

"Come on, let's not do this on the street, shall we?" He led her into an alley and opened the umbrella. Shoving the point of the stiletto through the top of the umbrella next to the ferrule, he then lashed its handle to the umbrella's shaft with a shoelace.

Mary accepted her new weapon with an exclamation of glee. "Oh, lovely," she praised, stabbing the ground several times to make certain it would not come lose. "You don't think it's too noticeable, do you?"

"Where ever you go, my love, no one will be looking at your umbrella," John grinned.

"You say the sweetest things," she sighed, rewarding him with a kiss. Then she returned her attention to her new toy. "You know, I always wondered whether Mycroft's brolly has some sort of hidden weapon—a shiv secreted in the handle, or maybe a special button that makes a poisonous gas spray out."

John shook his head. "I've often wondered the same thing. Maybe you can wheedle one out of him, now that you've decided to start your own arsenal. Lord knows, you seem to be able to get anything you want out a Holmes."

Mary gave him a playful shove. "It wasn't my idea. Sherlock just handed all this gear to me yesterday. Apparently, he'd been thinking about it since our trip to Cornwall last month."

"I should have thought of it myself," John mused. "We do live a dangerous lifestyle. It makes sense to be prepared for anything." He looked at Mary, concern clouding his eyes.

"I married a dangerous man," Mary said softly, caressing his face with one hand. "I knew what I was doing, you know. If I wanted to be safe, I'd have avoided you altogether."

He took her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. "Right, then, I'll go along and get into place and text you when I'm ready. Then you text me when you reach the door of the flat."

Mary smiled. "Don't look so worried."

"If anything should happen to you," he began, but couldn't go on. He looked down at his feet, unable to say what he was feeling. "We could just go on to dinner from here. Stay out late, hope they get tired of waiting and clear out before we get home," he suggested.

Mary wound her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "Don't be ridiculous, darling," she breathed ardently into his ear. "You know they won't let us into the restaurant dressed like this." They laughed together and clung to each other for several minutes before setting their plan into motion.

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John took a circuitous route to the alley in back of his block of flats. There was the fire escape, too high for him to reach. Not for the first time, he cursed his lack of height. But fortune was with him: the landlord was doing some remodeling and had hired a yellow skip to collect the rubbish—and the skip was fairly close to the fire escape. John climbed into the skip and then launched himself through the air to the ladder. Climbing as quietly as possible, he reached the ledge along the first floor and inched along to his bedroom window.

Flattening himself against the wall, he surreptitiously peeked into the room. It was empty, and the door to the sitting room was ajar, but not opened far enough to reveal him to anyone on the other side. He silently opened the window and slipped inside.

The development that he was most anxious about in this entire endeavor was that the intruders might have searched the flat and discovered his firearm. He stepped noiselessly across the room to his bedside table and opened the drawer. Taking out the false bottom, he heaved a silent sigh of relief to see his weapon still there. Checking that it was loaded and taking off the safety, he walked carefully to the bedroom door and peered out into the sitting room. Three of them, all armed, and . . . brewing a pot of coffee? Rummaging through the cupboards? Apparently they were making themselves at home. How long had they been waiting there? Long enough to have worked up an appetite, it seemed. John watched one of them shove his gun into his pocket so that he could help himself to a package of biscuits. Shaking his head at the poor quality of criminal with which he was often forced to deal, he pulled out his mobile and texted Mary. _Ready. JW. _Her reply made him shake with silent laughter.

_About time. Had a bit of a kip, waiting here. MW_

Settling himself against the wall beside the bedroom door, John braced himself to wait.

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Mary watched John until he disappeared around a corner, then left the alley and sat on a bench outside the shop to wait, her umbrella propped beside her. She should be quite used to sending her husband off into unknown, potentially lethal situations by now, but somehow it just wasn't something one grew complacent about. She knew that John was more than capable of taking care of himself—she felt could take out an acre of bad guys single-handedly if need be. But accidents did happen. She closed her eyes and hoped that she would be the partner he needed her to be when the time came. She did not fear for her own safety, but was terrified of letting him down and perhaps putting him into more danger than he would be in otherwise.

For just one moment, she let herself go to a dark place: a place where John was gone and the world tipped off its axis; a place devoid of all joy and color and laughter; where life became bereft of all interest; the place where she knew she would live one day, unless she had the good fortune to die first. But she did not allow herself to dwell there more than that one moment. She had made her choice to love a dangerous man; she had known the risks when she married him. And it was worth anything, anything, to have this life with him, for however long it lasted. She reflected on this past year as Mrs. Watson, and felt flooded with warmth; she would not trade a moment's time.

Picking up her umbrella, she practiced a few stabbing movements and smiled grimly. She knew she could be dangerous, too, given the opportunity. After an interminable wait, her mobile signaled an incoming text. It was time. She read John's economical message, and sent back a cheeky reply. Then she gathered her courage in both hands and walked down the street to her block of flats, trying to look casual and normal.

"I'm just coming home from the clinic, that's all," she reminded herself. "No reason to look nervous or tense." It felt creepy, knowing she was probably being watched from her own window. Entering the front door, she let out a shaky breath in relief at being temporarily out of sight. Determinedly, she climbed the steps to the first floor and approached her own flat.

_At the door. MW_

_See you in a mo. JW_

Mary produced her key and inserted it into the lock. She tried to push the door open as she normally would and affect a shocked look on her face. Three men leaped to their feet, dropping their coffee cups and biscuits. Mary found that her shocked look did not need to be feigned after all. She had never thought about the fact that even the most ruthless criminal must get hungry at times.

"What the hell!" she exclaimed, looking in dismay at the coffee spilling on the floor.

"Just shut up and you won't be hurt," one of the men snapped. "Shut the door and get in here."

Just then, John stepped from the door behind them. "Put your hands where I can see them," he said with icy calm. His was the voice of a man accustomed to giving orders and being obeyed immediately without question. The hands of two of the intruders lifted into the air as if of their own accord. The third man, the one who had been speaking to Mary, reached into his jacket instead—only to jerk his hand out again with a howl of pain.

"The little bitch stabbed me!" he yelped, incredulous. "With a brolly!"

"She'll keep on stabbing you if you don't put your hands in the air," John informed him coolly. "And I'm likely to put a few holes in you myself, if you carry on being rude to my wife."

Mary's dimples deepened. "Ta, darling," she smirked.

"Anything for you, love," he replied, his eyes crinkling warmly at her.

Mary disarmed all three men as John held them at gunpoint. "What are you doing here? You didn't break in just eat me out of house and home, did you?" she demanded. She marveled at her strange life, finding herself in the surreal position of hoping these men only wanted her husband to purchase large shiploads of illegal drugs as the best-case scenario for the situation.

John was wrapping a towel around the wounded man's arm, staunching the bleeding. "If you're here to do business, you have a strange way of going about it," he commented lightly.

The man he was bandaging remained resolutely silent, but one of the other intruders blurted out, "Our boss said you were trying to cut into his business. He told us to take you out."

"Fine job you've done of it, too," John observed. "I think I'll just hand you over to the police and see what your boss thinks of that. How many charges can we rack up, Mary, do you think? Breaking and entering; attempted murder; stealing biscuits."

"Destruction of property," Mary added, aggrieved. "Look what they've done to the carpeting!"

The wounded man growled, "You won't dare bring the cops into this. We'll tell them about your own illegal dealings, we will, and you'll be arrested yourself!"

"Hmm. Whom will the police believe? A seemingly law-abiding citizen whose home has just been violated? Or the group of inept thugs who broke in and threatened his wife and trashed his flat?"

Mary had her handcuffs out and was enjoying the opportunity of using them for the first time. "Too bad I only have two," she mused.

"I have zip ties in my pocket," John informed her. Of course he did. "I'll take care of this one while you make the call to the police. Then we can still make it to dinner, yeah?"

Mary beamed at him happily. "You are the most romantic man I know," she told him.

He shrugged modestly. "We wanted to do something fun together for our anniversary, didn't we? So, here we are."

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Dressed in their best and seated at last in a fairly expensive establishment, John and Mary toasted their first year together with glasses of Champaign.

"I'm sorry my job intrudes on our private life, Mary," John said sincerely.

"Don't be silly, Captain. I have the time of my life, fighting crime with you," his wife replied. "Anyway, this incident turned out to be a bit of a bust. Maybe you can arrange something more challenging next time. The biggest challenge in this case will be getting the coffee stains out of the carpet."

John chuckled affectionately. "Keep the cleaning receipts. We'll charge it as an expense to the client. Anyway, my cover is still intact. Maybe you can help me ferret out these drug smugglers. But—later. Tonight, let's just be an ordinary married couple, shall we?"

Mary shook her head, mischievous dimples showing. "Can't manage 'ordinary', and neither can you. I like the 'married' part, though."

They did not linger over dessert.


End file.
